


Make Me A Shadow of Your Peace

by Loversarelosers



Category: Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loversarelosers/pseuds/Loversarelosers
Summary: Ever since he was seven, his response to stress had been expressed through shaky hands and a jittery heart.Charles struggles with a panic disorder.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Make Me A Shadow of Your Peace

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched this movie and I now have far too many fic ideas. Suggestions are welcome.

Ever since he was seven, his response to stress had been expressed through shaky hands and a jittery heart. 

_ The boys were cruel, he thought, lying in bed. It wasn’t really fair how they treated David. Mum had always taught him to be kind to everyone, and he was nearly sure that the way the boys would speak about David was evil.  _

_ Tomorrow, tomorrow he would be brave enough to defend his brother, and not let those boys say such awful things.  _

_ His heart is pounding in his chest, like he’s just run around the house with David. It’s all a little odd, considering it’s eleven at night, but he sits on his hands to stop him shaking.  _

_ He doesn’t manage to go to sleep for ages.  _

_ — _

_ By the time they’ve realized David is overboard, his heart is going a million miles a minute. David can’t swim David can’t swim David can’t swim, the everlasting refrain in his head from the moment they stepped on the forsaken boat. Dad is looking everywhere to no avail. _

_ The moment his eyes find the shape of David, a few yards out, no longer waving his arms, but starting to slow down in his frantic movements. He watches in horror as his movements stop, bubbles rise.  _

_ He jumps.  _

_ The water is freezing, but adrenaline is making his heart race away, so he swims forward. He prays he’s fast enough.  _

_ His brother is thirteen and gangly though short, but nearly dead weight nonetheless. He struggles, his own head bobbing in the water, but he manages to pull David to the edge of the boat. His leg hurts a bit, and he hopes he didn’t sprain it, but he doesn’t pay much mind. David’s conscious but not very useful.  _

_ Dad half carries David onto the boat, and from the water, he can hear spluttering coughs and gentle encouragement.  _

_ Dad reaches out a hand for him and he takes it, climbing up, shivering, freezing. David is curled up, leaning against the side of the boat, blearily awake, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Dad at his side.  _

_ “Charlie…” _

_ His Dad’s eyes are wide and concerned and focused elsewhere. David’s mouth is open in shock. He looks down.  _

_ His leg is saturated in blood, mangled flesh from his mid thigh to his ankle, sliced to shreds and nearly pouring blood.  _

_ On second thought, it really, really hurts.  _

_ “Charlie, breathe, alright?”  _

_ Dad has arms around him and is lowering him to the ground, and he tries to calm his frantic breath. Are his hands shaking from the cold? He can’t really tell.  _

_ Dad touches his leg and he think he screams, his vision going blank.  _

_ “Hold on.” _

_ The boat takes off, he feels the whirring underneath his head. He’s really tired.  _

_ “ ‘M really tired…” he manages to mumble. He’s not that cold anymore.  _

_ David’s cold fingers run through his hair.  _

_ When his world goes dark, he hopes he never has to go fishing again.  _

_ —- _

_ “Charlie, it’s your dad’s funeral. You have an obligation.” _

_ He tries to quell the nausea that rises up his chest. His hands won’t stop trembling and he’s a bit sick of it. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.  _

_ He feels a tap on his shoulder.  _

_ David is standing there, eyes red rimmed and already dressed.  _

_ “What’s wrong?” _

_ He doesn’t have the heart to answer. It feels like it will snap him in two if he has to say it out loud. David just looks at him with all seeing eyes.  _

_ “What?” _

_ He’s probably going to be sick on his own shoes.  _

_ “Charlie?” _

_ “Nothing.” He signs.  _

_ “I’ll go.” He signs, his hands shaking so hard it’s a miracle David can understand.  _

_ When the service finishes, when he carries the casket, when the dirt falls, when it’s finally, finally over, that’s when he wants to cry.  _

_ He must be an awful son, but he can’t bear his last memory of his father to be in a wooden box sunk into the earth.  _

_ — _

It’s a dinner party, for God’s sakes. He should be able to have a meal with his friends without completely losing it.

The letter from Carrie is crumpled in his pocket. It’s not much of a surprise. When she had gone back to America, he almost knew it was goodbye. The promise of forever wasn’t quite as attractive as a ring. 

He’s twenty six, not twelve. He should be able to handle this without his hands shaking. 

His heart pounds like an anvil, and he sinks further into the plush chair, drink forgotten on the table. His friends are having a hell of a time, but he just can’t quite seem to catch his breath. 

He’s got to pull it together. This is ridiculous. He wanted Carrie to be happy, and now she’s found some young American suitor to satisfy her needs, and this is a good thing. He’s free to date anyone now, except Carrie. Maybe this time he’ll try blokes. 

He can’t  _ breathe.  _ It’s fine. It’s fine. His hands are trembling and he may be crying but he can’t tell, everything has gone rather numb. 

“Charlie?”

He wants to bury his head in his hands. 

“Charlie? Are you alright?”

He tries his best to nod but it’s quite feeble. A tear drips down his nose. It feels like he’s sucking air in through a straw. 

A hand lands on the small of his back. It’s David, eyes wide but comforting. Matthew runs a gentle hand through his hair as his lungs work furiously. 

“Take a deep breath, alright?” 

He’s trying. He’s failing. The edges of his vision are black spots. Fiona grabs his shaking hands gently in her own, though it doesn’t stop their tremor. 

“In...and out.”

She takes an exaggerated breath and he tries to do the same, but it feels like there’s a weight on his chest, heavy and constructing. 

“Charlie, you need to calm down, okay?”

He’s going to pass out, he’s nearly sure. Either that or he’s just going to die. 

He leans his forehead against David’s shoulder, tears rolling down his nose and dripping onto his lap. 

Fiona let’s go of his hands and he runs them through his hair, over and over. He’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s a steady mantra that he keeps repeating, hoping it will come true. 

And eventually it does, after what feels like hours, long after David has shooed everyone away to the next room, long after he cuts crescents into his palms from a tight fist. 

When he’s finally able to catch his breath, when the tremble of his hands subdued to a gentle tremor, when his heart ceases to pound and only races- when he’s as normal as he gets, that’s when he lets himself melt into David’s hug. 

Stray tears slip down his cheeks and he swipes them away. He’s truly, truly exhausted, his body as

bone weary as his mind. 

“ _ Let’s clean your hands up.” _

David helps him stand on unsteady legs, making sure he doesn’t fall. When he opens the door, everyone is sitting in the kitchen, quiet, reserved. He probably ruined the night with his ceaseless crying. Damn. 

David pushes him into a chair, Fiona fussing over his hands and Matthew wiping the blood and tears off his face. 

David is careful as he wraps his hands with gauze around the palm, the blood still leaking from the cuts. 

It’s quiet, his head lolling in exhaustion, when Tom speaks. 

“Have you ever been to a doctor about anxiety, Charlie?”

He shakes his head mutely.

“Think about it, alright?”

He nods. 

He can’t drive home in this state, so Tom has them stay over. He stumbles off to a room, sleep tugging at his body. 

_ “Hey.” _

He’s curled up on the bed when David approaches, sitting in the gap his body makes. 

_ “Think about what Tom said. I think it would help you.” _

He barely has the energy to think, let alone sign. 

David runs a gentle hand through his hair, comforting. It dawns on him that he’s the eldest, this should be his job. But for now, tears pricking at his eyes again, he doesn’t mind. 

“ _ Go to sleep.”  _

He drifts into a dreamless reprise, hoping that one day he’ll find peace. 


End file.
